The Ghost of Bonchurch Lodge
by JAGNikJen
Summary: Much is finally and officially awarded the grounds and lodge at Bonchurch-only to find that it is haunted. Much/Eve


Disclaimer: I do not own Robin Hood, Much or Eve; I have earned nothing from this endeavor save the joy that comes from the writing and the possibility of some nice feedback.

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The Ghost of Bonchurch Lodge**

Much trudged down the lane. The king had finally returned, pardoned Robin and, subsequently, the rest of the gang. The gang parted at the crossroads—Robin to Locksley, of course, along with Will and Djaq. Allan to Nottinghamshire. Much wasn't sure where John had gone, but he suspected the big man was in search of his family. Much worried about John and what he might find, but he understood that John had to know if his wife and son were happy and well.

Much stopped at the fork in the road. One path led to Wadlow, one to Bonchurch. _His_ Bonchurch. It was now his, just as Robin had promised him several years ago. With a deep satisfied sigh, he headed _home_.

The sun sat below the tree line and the hall was in shadow now, but it was one of the most beautiful sights Much had ever seen.

The door opened easily and he stepped into the great hall, such as it was. The silence enveloped him and with it a sense of sadness.

Memories of his previous stay assailed him. Of the happy villagers whom he fed. Of the laughter. The glowing crackling fire and its warmth. The bath. The singing.

_Eve_.

Much dropped to his knees, the sound of her voice, pure and true, had haunted him for over a year now. Tears filled his eyes and his chest tightened. He took a shuddering breath to stay the longing.

But there was justice now and he would begin his search for her as soon as he'd seen to his village and to his peasants.

The gloom deepened to a dark gray as the sun dropped closer to the horizon. It was almost dark outside. He must light a fire and see about supper. Not that there'd be any provisions here, he knew; he'd brought his own.

Walking on his knees to the hearth, Much picked up fist-sized flint rock and pulled his dagger from his belt. With a few practiced swipes, the sparks caught the small mound of tinder on fire. He threw a few small branches atop that and waited for them to catch as well.

Then Much plopped onto his arse and leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. He dug through his knapsack for the bread and cheese he'd taken from the camp. Tomorrow he'd have to see about filling his new larder and getting his new household up and running. It had been much easier the last time when it had been the sheriff who'd seen to it all. But the king had rewarded him with coin as well as a title. Pride warmed him just a bit and he washed down the last of his meal with a swig of water.

Contentment weighted his body and Much thought he ought to go upstairs and find his bed, but couldn't make himself move. This was so much more than he'd had in many a year and another night not sleeping in a real bed wouldn't make a difference.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to come.

Much awoke curled up in a ball, shivering and stiff the small fire having gone out sometime in the night. A groan replaced the quiet. He should have sought the bed after all. Rolling to his back, he moaned through a huge stretch, extending his arms and legs out as far as they would go and arching his back against the kinks.

He smiled up at the ceiling.

His ceiling.

His floor.

His manor.

He jumped to his feet and grabbed up his knapsack, rooting around for a pair of apples he'd also pilfered from the camp. Then he went on a leisurely tour of his home.

Home.

He liked that word. _Home._ He hadn't had a real home since before going to the Holy Land. In his mind, really since before becoming Robin's manservant. He'd been given a room of his own while Robin's manservant, but it wasn't a home—not _his_ home at any rate. When he thought of home, he thought of his mum, of a crackling fire, and the smell of daisies from the rushes. And he thought of love.

Sadness washed over him then. This place lacked that most important element.

He shook it off. He only lacked it for now. Once he found Eve, he was sure they would come to love one another. Then and only then would he have a real home. The home he'd dreamt about for the last three years.

Until then, though, he'd get everything else. Food, servants, rushes _with daisies_, nightly baths, new clothes, and a seat on the council of nobles.

Much continued his tour. Bonchurch was slightly smaller than Locksley Manor, but laid out identically. The builders didn't seem to have much imagination, but Much didn't mind so much. That just meant he needed fewer servants to keep it tidy. Although, surprisingly, it was quite clean for being empty for so long. But he supposed since the doors and windows were kept closed, not much dust or dirt could get in.

Unlike the camp.

He loved the camp, but he was not sorry that those days were now in the past.

Good days were ahead of him and it was time to live them. Servants first. They could help take care of the rest.

The morning was lovely and he headed for the small cluster of cottages at the bend in the path. Several villagers were up and about already, though the hour was still early.

He approached them and offered a smile. "Hello . . . I don't know if you remember me? Lord Much . . . from a couple of years ago?"

"Oh, aye," said an old woman. A smile split her wrinkled face. "You were ta one wot fed us all."

Much nodded, sighing in relief. "Yes, that's right. I'm here to stay now and I'm in need of house servants and was wondering if anyone's interested?"

A tall man with an already dour demeanor frowned. "Most folks here 'bouts avoid the lodge—it's 'aunted."

Several of the other villagers had joined them and they nodded.

"Haunted?" Much looked from face to face. He was certainly glad he hadn't known that last night. He didn't really believe in ghosts . . . much.

"Aye. Every now an' again, there's a light that floats about the lodge. 'Course it's only at night."

Much sighed. "Of course. Well . . ." What was he going to do? He needed servants. _Oh._ "It'd just be a day job, then. Come to the lodge during the day, return to your own cottage at night. Anyone?"

" 'Ow many servants are ye wantin'?" asked the old woman.

He hadn't thought about that. "Well, let's see . . . a housemaid and a cook, I suppose. And an older boy for the barn. That ought to do me for now."

"We'll put ta word out for ye then."

"Thank you. There's one other thing . . ."

They looked at him and waited.

"Um, there was a girl, Eve, who was the housemaid last time. Pretty blue eyes, long blonde hair. Do you know her?"

"Aye, we knew Eve," said the man. "Ain't she wif you?"

"_Knew?_" Much's heart dropped. "No, she's not with me."

"Oh. Well she disappeared the same time you did."

Much swallowed and nodded. Of course she had. He'd known that. Her still being in the village would have been a little too easy.

~rh~

He'd finally determined, after a few restless nights, that there was no ghost. At least not as far as he could tell. He wasn't sure what the villagers had seen, but Much himself hadn't seen or heard a thing.

A now, a full week later, Much finally had a cook and a stable boy, a grandmother and grandson who walked from Wadlow. None of his own villagers would step foot in his little lodge. But he found he didn't mind all that much. After so many years of living in such close quarters with Robin and the other guards, squires, and men servants in the Holy Land and then with the gang in the camp, he relished having all this peace and quiet and space to himself.

So tonight . . . tonight he would eat like a king. He'd requested any sort of roasted meat and vegetables. The lodge smelled wonderful, although it was starting to get dirty and dusty as he lived with the windows open and often left the doors open as well.

He looked about. It wasn't _too_ bad. Yet. But since he hadn't found a housemaid yet, he'd have to clean it himself. But that could wait until tomorrow.

Eve tiptoed to the edge of the tree line. There she stopped and looked toward the lodge and gasped. A light glowed in the larger of the two upper chambers. Could it be...?

Much?

Had Much finally returned?

Her heart constricted until she couldn't breathe. She stayed within the trees, watching until the light finally went out.

She crept across the yard to the lodge and let herself in. It smelled like home cooking and Eve smiled. Of course it smelled like food. Dear Much so found comfort when food was about.

Digging around the kitchen, she found her stash of candles and lit one. She crept through the great room and up the stairs. In the year and a half she'd cared for the lodge in Much's absence, she'd learned which were the creaky steps and she avoided them. She knew which floorboards squealed and stepped around or over them until she reached the master's chamber.

Faint snores floated through the barely open door. Thank goodness he hadn't latched the door closed. It made a horrible noise when you turned the handle.

Eve pushed open the door and gasped. A slash of moonlight cut across the bed and revealed that it was indeed Much. She snuffed out the candle with a quick pinch and shoved it in the pocket of her apron.

He'd returned home. Why had he not come in search of her? It had been three weeks since her last visit.

Perhaps he'd forgotten her. Or found someone else. He was quite loveable after all. Any woman would have to be mad not to see how good a man he was.

The emotions bombarded her and stopped her in her tracks. She shoved a fist to her mouth to stop the sob that threatened to burst forth. She shook her head. She was being silly. For all she knew, he'd only arrived yesterday, though form the look of the place he'd been in residence a bit longer than a day.

Once she had re-gained control, she moved forward on cat feet until she stood next to the bed, gazing down on the only man who'd ever treated her with pure kindness and shown her respect. Most men took one look at her and their thoughts went in only one direction.

But not Much. She'd thought so at first, but then he'd surprised her and proven her wrong. She didn't doubt that he wanted to bed her. By the end of his stint as master of Bonchurch, they'd both wanted it. But he was too honorable for his own good and sometimes, just every once in a while, she'd wished he'd been a bit less so. A memory of that sort might have made the wait more bearable.

She pushed away those thoughts. They were pointless. He was here now and he was safe. That's all that truly mattered. Even if he no longer wanted her. She would continue then to come and tidy the lodge, but she would not reveal herself to him. He would just have to live with the ghost of Bonchurch. Oh, yes, she knew what the villagers thought. And it suited her just fine.

"Eve . . . is that you?"

She jumped and gasped, clutching her gown at her chest. She took a step backwards.

Much scrambled to a sitting position. "It _is_ you," he said peering at her and throwing off the bed clothes.

She realized too late that she'd stepped right into the path of the moon's silvery light. "Much . . ." she whispered into his shoulder, suddenly finding herself in his arms. She clutched his under-tunic at the shoulders. He smelled of sunshine and roses. She took a deep breath so as not to completely break down. She relished the feel of his strong arms around her and his warm body pressed against hers.

They stood that way for the longest time until Much finally lifted his head from her hair, though he didn't release her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked wondrously. "How did you know I'd returned? I've been asking around about you. I was going to start looking for you."

She looked up at him as her heart soared and she smiled at him. "I didn't know you'd returned."

"Th-then what are you doing here?"

"I've been keeping the lodge clean for you. I come whenever I can to sweep and clean, so that when you finally returned it would be ready for you." Heat crept up her face, though she doubted he could see her embarrassment.

"You've been doing that? For me?"

She nodded.

"You're the ghost then?"

She grinned and nodded again.

He rested his forehead against hers. "Eve . . . you cannot know . . . how I've thought of you . . . longed for you."

"Yes I can," she whispered, but she could barely speak. "I've dreamed of this moment as well."

His eyes widened and she was taken aback by the blue. She'd forgotten how very blue they were.

"Really?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

"Do you know how often I remembered our kiss?" he whispered.

"A million times?"

He smiled and sighed. "At least."

"Perhaps we should kiss again . . ."

"Perhaps we should . . ."

And they did.

**~ Fin ~**


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